Lies and Loyalty
by Tardimpalarts
Summary: Returning from an undercover mission in Spain doesn't go as planned for Aramis. It seems that more than just the French want to know the knowledge that the Musketeer keeps in his head, and they'll do almost anything to get it from him.
1. Prologue

Authors Note: This is my first fanfiction so constructive criticism is appreciated. I will warn you now that I'm not very good when it comes to updating on a regular schedule but I will try my best for at least 1 chapter every 2 weeks

Disclamer: I do not own any of the characters that you recognize.

Prologue

Porthos was pacing, which Athos knew was never a good sign. The two of them had been out in the court yard for most of the morning waiting for Aramis to return from his mission to Spain. It was now almost midday and Porthos had grown impatient and had started his march well over than an hour ago. Athos couldn't help but grin at the anxious man as he poured himself another drink.

"You know that wearing a hole in the ground isn't going to get him here any faster."

Athos teased his short tempered friend. Porthos glared back at him, narrowing his eyes at the relaxed state. Athos was sitting facing the courtyard, his legs stretched out in front of him as his elbows and back rested on the table behind him. His right hand holding a freshly poured cup of whatever alcohol Serge put out that day.  
Porthos never broke his dedicated pacing as he replied.

"HOW are you so relaxed? He's been gone over two months and he was due back yesterday. If he doesn't turn up soon you won't be able to stop me going after him."  
At that moment D'Artagnan rode into the garrison with an excited expression which quickly turned into one of concern as the younger man noticed the continued absence of their missing fourth.

"Hasn't shown up yet then?" D'Artagnan stated with a slight sigh.

As much as he tried he couldn't quite hide the concern in his voice as he jumped down from his horse and handed the reigns off to the stable boy. He walked over, sat down opposite Athos, grabbed some of the bread sitting on the table that Porthos clearly hadn't touched, and glanced up at his pacing friend. Staring at him for a moment, then glancing at Porthos' feet he grinned as he took a bite from the hardening crust.

"You realize that you're beginning to dig a hole in the ground right?"

Athos couldn't contain a snorted laugh as he was taking a sip from his cup and chocked on the contents. Porthos simply ignored the both of them and continued walking. "Really though, if you're trying to make a good impression you should try a woman with your words, not on the ground with your uncoordinated feet." When he continued getting no response D'Artagnan turned to Athos who had just recovered a normal breathing pattern, "How long has he been doing that?"

Athos thought for a moment and glanced at the sun.

"Going on almost two hours I'd say." There was a brief pause in conversation as the two seated men just stared, watching the other as he tried to contain his impatience and growing concern. Trying to keep their own thoughts from grown to grim.

'At least he's worried' D'Artagnan thought to himself. 'Not that he's **never** been worried about their absent friend, but ever since their return from the front, and Aramis's rejoining of the Musketeers, things haven't been the way they should. They were tense around one another and none of them knew how to fix it. But after Aramis was assigned this solo mission in Spain for intelligence gathering, everyone of them had been overwhelmed with the feeling of dread. What if this was it, what if something horrible had happened, what if Aramis never returned from Spain and the three of them had to learn, once again, how to live life without the spark that is Aramis. D'Artagnan shuddered at the horrid thought. We were just getting used to having him back in our lives, PLEASE don't take him away from us again.'

"So," D'Artagnan broke himself off from dark thoughts, "when do we leave Captain?"  
Athos turned to look at him and Porthos paused mid step to glance over, also wanting to know the answer. Athos opened his mouth to reply, but the sound of thundering hooves on cobblestone streets cut him off, his emotionless face, slightly giving away a grin.  
"As you can see gentlemen", Athos stated calmly as D'Artagnan ran to Porthos who had turned towards the garrison's gated entrance, "there is nothing…."

Athos stopped short as his face fell. A riderless fully saddled horse entered at high speed, wild and out of control. Porthos moved faster than the Captain had thought possible, grabbing the reigns of the frightened animal trying to calm him. Athos and D'Artagnan were close behind the larger man in the race to find out what was going on. "This is Aramis's horse…right?" Athos nodded at the younger man

"Then where is he? Where is Aramis?" Panic was evident in D'Artagnan's voice but the panic was nothing compared to the look in Porthos' eyes. He was frozen, his eyes fixed on something Athos couldn't see. Moving to the side of the exhausted and overtaxed beast, Athos discovered what had given Porthos such an unpleasant stillness. A long streak of tacky crimson was drenching the saddle and ran all the way to the rear of the horse. Shaking himself out of his petrified state, Porthos started rummaging through the saddle bags looking for any clue as to what could have happened. He found an unsealed missive from the King, assumedly the order for the mission, and a torn and bloody document from the Governor of Lille addressed to King Louis and his court."We need to get this to Treville." Porthos stated having read the only visible words. He handed it off to Athos who grew even more grim.

A traitor has been discovered in the court. He has turned spy for the Spanish and forsaken all ties to … country. The King… adviser and … He has betr….… his King… as well… must be … and quietly bef… Lives are lost to this…

Your loyal servant,  
Renauld Gov. of Lille

Parts of the letter were missing and the other parts were stained in blood but this news must get to Treville. Athos didn't know who the traitor was, but he had every intention of finding out. All they needed was the one thing they had been missing for over two months. "Saddle your horses gentlemen, we leave within the hour."

Thanks very much for reading this far. I hope that you enjoyed my first chapter. Much more to come so hold on tight.


	2. A simple ride home

Authors Note: There's been so much love for this and I'm overwhelmed. Thank you to those of you who took the time to review, it is most appreciated. I'm still working out how to upload new chapters so sorry for any mistakes. Also if anything seems out of place call me out on it. I'd LOVE to hear your input.

Disclaimer: I don't own The Musketeers, though I WISH I could create characters as beautiful as these.  
I do have some O.C. in this chapter however, and they are mine. :)

Chapter 1

"I believe we shall reach Paris before noon tomorrow my friend." Aramis grinned while patting his steeds neck.  
The Sun was disappearing quickly behind the horizon and Aramis knew that he would need to find a suitable place to spend the last night of his two month mission.  
"Just a few more miles. I remember seeing a stream not far from here. We'll rest there for the night." Aramis's horse nickered in acknowledgement. Aramis removed his feathered hat and used it to block the remainder of the bright sun.

 _About an hour of sunlight left. Lets hope that stream isn't that far or we'll be traveling in the dark._

Not fifteen minutes later Aramis could hear the sound of trickling water as it traveled down stream.  
"See told you as much," Aramis boasted to his uninterested horse, whose only response was a slight twitch of his left ear and a soft nicker."  
"No need to be rude, I found you some fresh water did I not?"  
As he spoke, the Musketeer gently climbed down from his saddle, as he had been riding for several days so was very sore, and led his horse by the reigns off the path towards the sound of fresh water. As they neared the promise of clean refreshment Aramis spotted some apple trees. _Fresh water AND apples?! This is turning out to be a lovely evening..._

* * *

Hours Later...

Aramis rose from his spot by the fire and walked over to the pile of fallen branches and logs he had collected. The sun was fully set now and the autumn weather made for a very chilly evening. He chose several logs big enough to keep the fire going for most of the night. Tossing them into the embers, sparks shot out and made the night turn a bit brighter. A soft grunt from his horse reminded Aramis of the apples he had found earlier.  
"I almost forgot," he slapped his forehead dramatically, "I have something for you my friend."  
He pulled out a reddish green apple from the satchel on his saddle and walked over to where the horse was grazing lazily. He lifted his head however when Aramis got closer. "I probably shouldn't, but you've been working hard these past months, I think you've earned a little treat.  
Holding out his hand the horse sniffed it briefly then greedily snatched it out of his palm.

Aramis returned to his place by the fire and began to settle in for the night. He took off his hat and placed it over his face as he lay his head on the leather saddle. Exhausted from his almost complete and emotionally taxing journey, he was quietly snoring within minutes.

The moon was high in the sky , it's luminescent glow lighting up the sleeping forest. Embers from the dying fire glowed as Aramis woke from his sleep. He didn't know how he knew, only that something was wrong, and over the years Aramis had learned never to ignore that instinct. For it had saved not only his life in the past, but also those of his comrades. Without moving Aramis tried to listen for what had woken him.  
There was a silent movement coming from near his head. Keeping as still as possible he got a tight grip of the dagger that was always on his person for occasions such as this. He rose silently from his horizontal position. The intruder had his back to Aramis and never saw him coming. With one fluid movement Aramis's blade was pressed against the mans throat. "Who, may I ask, are you? And what do you think you're doing?" Aramis asked with an amused but dangerous tone.  
The man remained silent and still, even as the dagger drew blood on his exposed neck.

Suddenly Aramis felt something hard pressed to the back of his head, and the unmistakable sound of a musket hammer being drawn back.  
"I suggest you drop the knife before someone gets hurt." stated a gruff sounding new arrival.  
Sighing lightly Aramis realized there was no point in arguing, so he lowered his dagger and released his hold on the first intruder.  
"Drop the knife and turn around," continued the second man. Releasing his hold on the blade, Aramis slowly turned his back with hands raised.

A moment passed where nobody spoke. The only sound came from the chirping of crickets and the crackling of the dying fire.  
"Well, what now gentlemen?" Aramis asked, slightly annoyed at the whole situation. "I take it from the way you were digging in my bags you're not highway robbers. So what are you? Just thieves looking to make a little extra to fill your purse? No, that's not it. You handle yourselves to well for that, soldiers perhaps? Yeah that makes more sense. But what would Spanish soldiers be doing this close to Paris? There isn't a Spanish encampment around here, the closest one is a week away. It does make a man wonder." Both men looked at one another trying to decide who was going to break silence. The first man spoke in a slight accent "We know who you are Musketeer, and where you are coming from." as he spoke he took Aramis' hands and roughly bound them behind his back. "What we don't know, is what you learned on your mission." Aramis was slightly taken aback. This only confirmed what Aramis had discovered in his time in Spain. There was a traitor, but how had he gotten the information of a Musketeers mission. _I sent word back to Paris that I was to return soon, maybe he somehow got a hold of the letter?_ Either way Aramis needed to get out of this situation and fast.

He studied his surroundings for a brief moment. The intruders, who Aramis guessed were Spanish soldiers, were quietly discussing what their next move should be. Aramis' pistols lay next to where he was sleeping but there was no way he could accurately shoot someone with his hands tied behind him. His horse was grazing only a few paces from him, but climbing bareback on a horse was painful enough, never mind with out the use of hands. There was really only one option, try and talk himself out of this, as he had done so many other times before. Although somehow, this time it felt like it wasn't going to work out in his favor.

"So," the second man spoke, "I don't suppose you could just tell us where the letter is and be done with it?"  
Aramis gave him an incredulous look.  
"Yeah I didn't think so. You know eventually you will talk, everyone does in the end."  
"You may as well kill me now. You won't get a thing out of me."

"We'd rather not kill you, but that doesn't mean we won't hurt you to get what we need."  
The Musketeer remained silent but held a determined look in his eyes. The second man nodded at the first with remorse clear on his face. This surprised Aramis, but not as much as the searing pain of a musket ball entering his upper left thigh. Aramis shouted out in pain as he fell to the ground hitting his head on a tree trunk with a thud. The world turned fuzzy and faded till it finally went black, and the Musketeer knew no more. 

* * *

There it is Part 2. I've been writing this story for over a year in an old notebook that I take with me everywhere, and I'm not done writing it out in there yet. I do have a clear outline of what is going on so hopefully no writers block for me, but we all know it's bound to happen sooner or later. Any way, I hope you enjoyed this second chapter, any input is greatly appreciated.


	3. Aches and Bruises

Authors Note: I know it's been a couple of weeks, sorry about the delay. I should have known that as soon as I started posting, something would change in my life that would interrupt my updates. I've got another chapter for you now though so I hope the wait was worth it.

Disclaimer: I do not now nor ever shall own ANY character related to the Musketeers. Those wonderful creations belong to Alexandre Dumas.

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Chapter 2

Blinding sunlight, that was the first thing Aramis was aware of. His eyes remained closed but the rays shone through his eyelids so brilliantly it made his head hurt. As his consciousness grew, so did his awareness. He heard the sound of hushed voices nearby speaking to softly for Aramis' throbbing head to make out what they were saying. With a soft groan he slowly opened his eyes. He was sitting up against a tree, hands bound if front of him and a gag in his mouth. Aramis raised his hands to block the sun from his eyes allowing time to adjust to the change. It was still early morning, if the height of the sun had anything to say about it, and the air was still brisk from the autumn evening, so he had only been out for a few hours. Aramis glanced over to the fire to his right and noticed the two men who had rudely invaded his camp the previous evening.

The pain hit as he remembered why he was waking to find himself tied up, unarmed, and leaning against a tree. His entire body hurt, but it was a dull ache compared to the flames engulfing his left thigh. He leaned forward and grasped the outer edge of the wound as well as he could with bound hands. Looking at it now he noticed that it had been, at the very least, cleaned and crudely stitched. Aramis groaned through his gag and fell back to his previous position trying to put the pain out of his mind. He was trying to understand how this could have happened. His entire mission IN Spain had gone unhindered, for the most part, and not even a full days ride from home he had been ambushed in his own campsite, most likely concussed, bound and gagged, and had a bullet hole in his leg. Maybe Porthos was right, maybe all that time away had made him careless. His muscles had taken some time to get back into fighting shape but it had come naturally. Aramis sighed in frustration and closed his eyes once again, hoping that maybe it was all a bad dream and he could open them back up and everything would be as it should be.

No such luck however, for when he did open them again the larger of his two captors, was walking towards him. Squatting down in front of the musketeer, the dark haired man removed the cloth from his mouth.  
"Well Musketeer, it's nice to know you aren't dead," he grinned and held out a water canteen.  
Aramis, only now realizing how dry his mouth felt, accepted the offered drink thankfully and downed several mouthfuls before handing it back to his captor. Aramis coughed as his sore throat was satisfied.  
"If I may, not that I'm complaining mind you, why am I still alive?" Aramis asked knowing that Athos would have smacked the back of his head if he could.  
 _Never ask why they haven't killed you Aramis. They may change their minds as soon as you open your mouth._ His mind brightened at the thought of his brutally honest friend.  
Smiling the smaller man walked over to the conversation, holding a piece of parchment that Aramis recognized as the information he had worked for so long to bring back to Paris.  
"We want to know who your contact in Spain is, and how you came to retrieve this information."  
"Right," Aramis cleared his throat and looked the men their eyes, smiling, "well that's never going to happen so you may as well let me go."  
Both men looked at one another and laughed at Aramis' attempt to lighten the mood if nothing else.  
"We've got a joker Tomas" the man holding the letter slapped the other, Tomas, on his shoulder laughing.  
"Yes looks like, I've always hated the joker."  
"What are you talking about? You are quite the funny man when you want to be."  
"You know, you're right Antone. I do however know when the proper time for jokes is. Which is not when I'm held captive by people who want to know information that I could never give up for fear of getting someone killed."  
"When you're right, you're right. So I guess this guy's right. We should just let him go and bring this information back to his comrades. Who would in turn use said information to stop any further communication from the palace, effectively wiping out any and all intelligence on further military movements. In a sense cutting out our very eyes to all enemy actions."

They both looked at Aramis who had sat unmoving since his previous statement.  
 _Yeah I didn't really think that would work. It did however tell me that there IS only one spy in the Palace, so that's something. This knowledge is useless however if i don't get out of this mess._

Roughly pulling Aramis to his feet they half dragged him across the campsite.  
"Tomas, we should wait till nightfall." they were speaking in Spanish but naturally Aramis understood every word. "This close to the capitol someone is bound to recognize his uniform."  
It seemed as though they had already discussed this very problem, which was the conversation Aramis had probably interrupted when he woke.  
"True," he paused and thought for a moment. He looked at his captive and glanced at his right shoulder, "but that is a problem easily solved."  
They paused when nearing Aramis saddled horse, and Tomas pulled out a knife letting go of his grip on his captive. Aramis, without the extra support on his wounded leg, fell to the ground, groaning in pain. Tomas knelt down above him and grabbed the rough rope around his wrists. Twirling the knife carelessly in his left hand near Aramis' face, Tomas seemed to decide something in that moment and cut the rope off his sore hands.  
"Take off your pauldron."  
Aramis looked at the man as if he had gone insane. _I took it off once willingly, and it was the hardest thing I've ever had to do in my life. And this man thinks that I can do it just like that? I only just got it back! NO! If he want's it so badly he's going to have one hell of a fight on his hands.  
_ Aramis looked up into the man's eyes with a fury he didn't know he had.  
"Never going to happen!"

"I thought you might say that, Antone, hold him down."  
Aramis lashed out with a vengeance , injured leg forgotten, but these men were stronger than they appeared. Antone soon had his right arm held tight across Aramis' neck, with his left twisting Aramis' left arm behind his back. Still trying to wiggle loose, Antone was forced to tighten his grip around Aramis' throat. He gasped for air, his face turning red. Tomas had his knee across Aramis' legs and was gripping his right wrist keeping the arm extended. He brought his knife closer to Aramis' pauldron and cut away the strap around his arm. Aramis let out a growl that would have made Porthos proud, and glared at Tomas with all the fury he could muster. The moment the knife cut through the leather on his shoulder, Aramis let out a roar of frustration and threw his head back slamming it against Antone's nose with a sickening snap.

Antone screamed in pain and released his hold on Aramis. Taking advantage of the situation Aramis punched Tomas in the face sending him backwards falling into the grass. Aramis then turned back to Antone and grabbed the letter from his bloody hand. His grip on the paper was stronger than Aramis thought however and it ripped into two pieces. The musketeer crawled to his feet gasping for the air he had been deprived of and limped the rest of the way to his horse and rode as fast as he could out of the encampment and down the road towards Paris. As he rode he became aware of the fact that he had torn his stitches and the wound was once again bleeding. It didn't matter right now. He had to reach Paris. Nothing else mattered not now.

Aramis didn't know how long he had been riding before he heard them behind him, it could have been 5 minutes or and hour. The headbutt he gave to Antone hadn't helped his concussion at all and the world around him was growing foggy. A shot behind him renewed his determination to get away, but he knew they weren't going to make it at this pace. His horse would burn out before they even got close. He had to make a decision and fast. There was still a large enough gap between him and his pursuers that he had time to stop shove the torn letter into the saddlebag and smacked his horse on the rear and sent a prayer that he would make find his way home. Aramis dove into the cover of the trees, stumbling through the underbrush as the blood continued seeping from his reopened wound. Every step was agony, fire shot up his leg every time he moved, and his vision began to swirl. He was forced to concentrate on what he was doing, step, step, step. His adrenaline was almost fully depleted and he didn't notice he was falling until his face met the dirt.

Breathing heavily he tried to get back on his feet, only to discover that his body would no longer obey him. He could move enough to turn himself onto his back and stared at the sky through the leaves of the surrounding trees. It was going to be a beautiful day. The birds were singing in the distance, the light autumn breeze made him shiver slightly, but the sun was shining through the trees, and Aramis was upset that it was a day that he couldn't be a part of. Aramis suddenly came back to his senses and remembered the note. What if his horse never made it back to the Garrison, he was a smart beast, but could he remember his way home? It was also ripped... what if the name of the traitor was missing? If he didn't return within a certain time, surely his friends would come looking for him. Right? Aramis wasn't so sure anymore... everything had changed. Especially with Porthos. _Would he even WANT to find me?_ _Maybe it would have been better for them had I stayed away._ _Out of their lives just like they had learned to accept as the new normal._ _  
_ _No they would come._ He had to believe that. If there was one thing he could believe in, it was that his friends would never abandon him to death, no matter how angry they were at one another.

It was moments later that Aramis could hear the sound of movement from the direction he had come.  
"It was a valiant attempt Musketeer, but you should have known you wouldn't get away that easily," Tomas crouched down and grabbed Aramis under his arms and pulled him up to his feet.  
"You can't blame a man for trying."  
Aramis swayed keeping his weight off his injury as much as possible. Antone stood nearby, blood dried to his face as he gingerly touched the brim of his nose, trying to decide if it was broken or not.  
"Antone stop standing there and help me with him."  
Antone begrudgingly walked over and heaved the almost unconscious musketeer over his shoulder.  
"Thank you my friend, I may be slightly taller than you but you far surpass me when it comes to strength." Tomas smiled as they headed back to their horses they left by the road.  
Antone grinned and looked at his friend "That is because I don't overindulge myself Tomas, like some do with their drink."

Aramis was loosing his battle with consciousness once again as the pain was becoming to much for him to bare. He had done all his battered body could do. Now it was time to accept the hand that had he had been dealt, and pray for the best outcome.

* * *

UH OH what's Aramis got himself into this time ;) I hope that it will appease you guys for the longer wait. I've got the rest of the gang in the next chapter, so something to look forward to. I'm not sure when the next update will be so please be patient with me. I'll do my best. Thanks for reading, please let me know how you liked it.


	4. Torn and Tracking

**Author Note: A lot has been happening in real life, so thank you all for the patience. I would have had this chapter up over the weekend but it was my birthday, so that didn't happen. But I'm here now so fear not. Our other 3 beloved gentlemen make an appearance in this chapter and another original, so YAY! This one is also a bit longer than my previous chapters so again YAY.**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own ANY of the characters from the original book/show/all the movies. I am borrowing them for creativity's sake.**

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Chapter 3

Athos handed the torn letter back to Porthos whose face had turned pale and his knees began to shake as if unable to support him for long. D'Artagnan closed his eyes and an his hand down his face stopping over his mouth. Athos remained expressionless with difficulty, but placed his hand on the younger man's shoulder in a silent show of support. They all knew that Aramis must be in terrible danger, if not already dead. They didn't know if he had been captured, or killed, if he was on the run wounded and bleeding, or lying unconscious on the side of the road. They just didn't know. Athos looked at two of his best friends, who were looking at him in both concern, determination, and in Porthos' case fury.  
Making a decision Athos yelled to one of the cadets in the stables. The dark haired boy ran over and stood at attention in front of his captain.

"Take this to Minister Treville," indicating the bloody letter, "and tell him that D'Artagnan, Porthos," he thought for a moment before continuing, "Raul, and myself have gone to find Aramis. Do NOT let ANYONE else deliver this letter. You must be the one to place it in the Minister's hand. Do you understand?"  
"Yes Captain," and taking the letter, the boy ran off.  
D'Artagnan looked at his captain in confusion, "Why Raul?" D'Artagnan had nothing against the young man, but it just didn't make sense for him to be coming along.  
Athos looked at him a small sadness in his eyes.  
"He has been training with Aramis as a medic, and from the looks of it, we may need one."

 _3 hours later..._

It was getting later in the afternoon when the group of Musketeers decided to slow their pace, They had been riding hard for the last few hours and needed to give their horses a break before they collapsed from exhaustion. Athos directed them to a clearing in the trees not to far from the road, but could hear the sound of rushing water from a nearby stream.  
"Water your horses and rest for an hour, we'll press on till there is no light left." D'Artagnan and Raul led the 4 horses towards the sound of water not far in the distance. Athos turned to Porthos "Take a look around and see if you can find any signs of..." "CAPTAIN, PORTHOS!" a voice came from not far off, "OVER HERE QUICKLY!" it was Raul, and he sounded worried. Pulling out their weapons they sprinted into the trees after their companions and horses.

Spotting Raul, whose weapon was not drawn, Porthos looked to the Gascon, who wasn't moving. He just stood staring at a small clearing not 10 feet away from where they stood. "D'Artagnan?" Porthos asked concerned, "you alright?"  
Still holding the reigns to both his own and Porthos', eyes never leaving the flattened grass up ahead, "That clearing right there... d...don't you see it?"  
Moving closer Porthos saw what he was looking at. There was a small mile of charred wood, and as he drew even nearer he could detect the smallest of heat radiating off of it. There looked to be signs of occupants, the trampled grass all around the campfire, bedrolls and blankets, 3 of each were left behind. But Porthos moved passed all of these things. Keeping his eyes on the small bundle of leather that had grabbed his attention.  
Moving slowly Athos followed Porthos and watched as the big man knelt down to pick up the bundle that was lying next to a familiar crushed feathered hat. The ornate pauldron was gripped tight yet somehow gently in Porthos' hands, who, in turning to face them, looked lost. There was a pain in his eyes. A pain the Athos hadn't seen since before the war. Even before D'Artagnan had stormed into their lives. It was the pain that he had only seen when word had come from Savoy that none had survived a massacre. A look of complete emptiness of thinking that his best friend in the world had been taken from them forever. The loneliness and betrayal that the big man was emoting through his eyes made Athos' heart cry out in sympathy.

Raul was coming nearer to the three now, having tied all the horses to some fallen trees. The young medic had heard of the close bond that the four men share. He had heard the stories of their bravery even before the war. It was stories of them that made him want to become a Musketeer in the first place. But seeing the pain in Porthos' eyes, only confirmed what he already knew. These men were more than comrades in arms, they were brothers through and through, and now one of them was missing possibly dead. Raul didn't even want to think what that would do to these men. That's when he looked at the bedroll directly across from where Porthos stood. "Captain?"  
Athos turned to the voice behind him and glanced at what the young man was looking at.  
Porthos, shaking himself out of his own head, followed closely behind. They all looked down at the dried blood staining the blanket. There wasn't a lot of it, but enough to be concerned. "Spread out and look for anything that may give us a clue as to which direction they could have gone."

D'Artagnan went over to where the abandoned pauldron had once been, and looked around the area. There was a rope with frayed edges that was clearly used as bonds. There was also a few droplets of blood lying painfully close to Aramis' feathered hat. D'Artagnan picked up the crushed object and attempted to straighten it out.  
"Look at this Athos." Porthos stated as he held out he pauldron. "The bastards cut it off of him." Staring at the sliced edges of the leather straps, Athos knew that Aramis wouldn't have made it easy for his captors, he would have put up a good fight. The thought made Athos grin, yet sorrow gripped his heart at the idea of his brother, fighting with everything he had to keep the only recently returned object. Athos briefly thought of another pauldron left lying in a forest without an owner, but unlike Marsac', Aramis hadn't left his willingly, and Athos and the rest were determined that it would once again reside on their friend's shoulder.

"I think I've found something," Raul shouted from close to the road. "it's a Spanish coin. Does this mean the Spanish have him?" Porthos took the coin from the young man's outstretched hand. "I think that it's safe to assume so, seeing as how Aramis' mission was in Spain."  
"But it could be from some random traveler or even Aramis himself." Raul commented.  
"The truth is we don't know but it's the best we..." Athos was cut off by a shout from D'Artagnan  
"Athos!" D'Artagnan was crouched down looking at something on the road. The others ruched over to him as he stood to meet their eyes with hope in his eyes. He grinned pointing at the droplets of blood leading them back from where they came, "I've found their trail."

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Aramis came to awareness rather suddenly. His leg was throbbing painfully, along with his head. The next thing he became aware of however, was the fact that there was a blindfold over his eyes and a gag in his mouth. The ground beneath him was moving which made him realize that he was on horseback with his hands bound behind his back. He could hear people around him on either side, yet slightly ahead of him. Then he remembered what had happened. The month long mission, the name of the traitor, the attack in the campsite, the attempted escape. It all came flooding back, and Aramis could only hope that his horse had made it back to Paris, and that his comrades found their way to him in time.  
"Looks like he's waking up." A voice Aramis recognized as Tomas said  
"About time, I'd begun to think that that he hit his head or something," Antone chuckled. "you've been out for a good 6 hours musketeer."  
"Thought we were going to have to toss a bucket of water over his head to wake him up."  
"Well first we'd need a bucket, which we don't have. I could always have just smacked him again, jostle his brain a bit"  
"I think that's why he was unconscious in the first place you idiot."

Aramis just sat atop a horse and listened to the friendly banter between the two. He had been away from the Garrison and his friends for over two months and missed this kind of comradery between friends. He had wanted to bring Porthos with him, but he understood the urgentness of the mission and Porthos had been away on another mission and wouldn't have been back for another week. The name of the traitor inside the King's war council was of utmost importance, and he was one of the few musketeers that spoke Spanish, and the only one who spoke it fluently. So it had made sense for him to go. He had successfully passed himself off as one of the Governor of Lille's guard and infiltrated the Spanish court, making contact with their man on the inside. The whole mission had gone well and would only have taken about 3 weeks without the travel time. But first he had to travel north to Lille, then to Le Havre, then a 2 week boat ride to Spain and on to Madrid. All while pretending to be a part of the Governor's guard. The Governor was the only one other than the King and Treville to know about the mission, so how did these men know who he was... and what he was carrying? Someone must have betrayed them. Unless the King let slip at one of the council meetings what Aramis was up to. Which actually wouldn't have surprised Aramis all that much. Louie was his King and Aramis would die for the man, but he was also not very good at keeping important things to himself.

"You're being awfully quiet musketeer."  
Aramis was drawn from his contemplation by Tomas' voice.  
"That's probably because he has a gag in his mouth, you dim witted fool." Antone replied in jest. Placing his right hand over his heart Tomas smiled at his large friend, "You wound me" he jested, in mock pain. Suddenly the blindfold was taken off of Aramis and the marksman squinted at the sudden brightness of the evening sun. Slowly his eyes adjusted to the new light and he took in his surroundings. They were on a dirt path, to narrow to be a major road, in an open field of amber grain. Not far in the distance ahead of them was a dense forest atop hills. Looking at Antone, he noticed the purple and black bruise he was sporting on the bridge of his nose where Aramis had broken it. Despite his situation a small grin formed on Aramis' lips, that shone through to his eyes.  
"You find my pain funny musketeer? We'll see who's laughing in a few hours." As he spoke he had gotten right into Aramis' face, and Aramis, always willing to take the opportunity when it presents itself, tilted his head back and smashed his forehead into his nose again. Causing Antone to howl in pain once again and blood to pour out of the barely healed cut from before. Antone, in retaliation, smashed his fist down hard on the already agitated musket wound in his captives leg.  
Aramis released a pained groan as he tried to grasp the would to somehow stifle pain with his hands, but their current position behind his back didn't allow the movement. So he took to doubling over on the saddle, head resting in the horses mane.  
"ANTONE, let's not be brutes." Tomas scolded  
"But he..."  
"No. Would you have done anything differently were you in his position?"  
"No. But it doesn't make it hurt any less." the larger man grumbled under his breath.  
"Now, Musketeer." Tomas turned to face Aramis as best he could while still staying in the lead of the strange trio. "I don't suppose you'll tell us what we want to know now and get it over with would you?"  
Aramis raised his eyes to meet his captors and glared at him as if offended by the very thought that he would betray his king. Which of course, he was. Reading the expression Tomas nodded and resumed a forward position on his horse. "I didn't think so, but trust me when I tell you ... you are going to wish you had." There was something in his voice that made Aramis believe he actually meant it. It almost sounded as if there was pity in his voice, no he must have imagined it.

As they had been talking, they had entered the forest. The tall trees were close together, not allowing much sunlight through despite the sun still shining behind them.  
"Almost home...just a few more miles my friend." Tomas glanced and his still bleeding friend. "Do you dink dat Gabriel id back yet?" Antone asked through his blood clogged nose. "He must be, he was due back yesterday. He's probably sitting around some table, cheating at cards, waiting for us..."

His captors continued talking about their friend, Gabriel, and Aramis had to tune them out. This friendly banter was so painfully familiar that it hurt Aramis to listen to. There was a time that he could have these care free conversations with his friends. Now he had to choose every word he said with the greatest of care. Careful as to not offend anyone by mentioning lies and loyalty, because it would just be thrown back in his face. Aramis looked up to the canopy of trees, and prayed that he would have the chance to fix all the problems he'd caused over the years. If he was to die his greatest regret would that he never mended things with his brothers, especially Porthos. He knew why there were holes in their once unbreakable friendship, and that they were his fault, but he didn't know how to fix them. And at this point he didn't know if he'd ever find out if he even could.

"Here we are!"  
Three words, three simple words that wouldn't ordinarily make anyone feel this filled with dread, but that is exactly what Aramis felt as the gates to his captors camp opened to reveal what was inside. The timber doors opened to reveal a large force of battle ready soldiers. Sentries on every wall and hundreds of tents forming a circle around the center of the camp where there were 3 larger circular tents and one that was bigger than all the rest. Aramis looked around trying to grasp the sheer number of men this camp held. If there were any thoughts of escape before, they had just become FAR more complicated.

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Don't worry Aramis, help is ON. THE. WAY!  
That's chapter 3 for ya'll. Hope it lived up to all of your expectations. I would like to thank everyone who reviewed. All of your input and your comments make it feel worthwhile. I loved writing this fic so I'm excited that so many people are interested in it. If you have any questions feel free to pm me or write a review ;) "Till next time, I'm your host Tardimpalarts, Have a good night"


	5. Message in the ground

**Author's Note:** I know that it's been a while. so I am thankful for all of your patience and words of encouragement. I can't tell you how much it means to me. Hopefully updates will come more often but who knows what life will throw at you. MERRY CHRISTMAS, and a Happy New Year. I hope that 2018 will be kind to you all.

 **Disclaimer:** While I would love to claim ownership of these beautifully crafted characters, I cannot. *sigh*

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Following the trail that was leading them to their missing friend, Athos couldn't help but admire the fact that Aramis was giving his captors a hard time. As much as Athos disliked it when he himself was on the receiving end. He loved it when others were being forced to live through the pain that is a sarcastic Aramis. The trail of blood was worrisome however, and it became even more so when D'Artagnan had read the prints on ground and stated that Aramis had willingly gotten off his horse and headed off.  
"He must have realized that there was no way that he was getting away. But the horse could, on it's own" Porthos said to Athos who nodded in agreement.  
"At least he was coherent enough to think that through."  
D'Artagnan caught their attention, "It looks like he headed into the forest here," he pointed to the left, "we should dismount, the underbrush is to thick for the horses to get through at any real speed. Besides it will be more difficult to track in here. The forest floor is very dense so I'll need to be closer to the ground anyway."

Heeding his advice the four of them dismounted and headed into the forest on foot. "It looks like his leg was wounded, you can see that one of the footprints drags a bit."  
D'Artagnan continued on occasionally commenting on the odd significance of each broken twig. Athos assumed it was because of worry, D'Artagnan had always been a talkative person, but when he's worried he just talks until he realizes that he forgets to breathe. He had grown a lot over the past four years, Athos had watched him transform from the last of his boyish ways into the strong and confident man before him. It had not come without a price however, what they had had to live through was what Aramis had once described as what Hell would be like. No one had come through the bloody mess unchanged. But D'Artagnan had the most, and he was a stronger man for it.  
"He stumbled here." he pointed to a branch on the ground where a small pool of blood had formed on the fallen leaves. "It's also where his pursuers caught up with him." D'Artagnan crouched down to get a better look at the ground, "There are two new more sets of footprints all around here. And these ones here," he said pointing to the larger of the two, " are deeper. So either he was extraordinarily large or..."  
"Or" Porthos interrupted, "they had to carry him."

The worry behind those words made Porthos visibly shudder. The larger man had been clutching onto Aramis's pauldron so tightly, his knuckles had turned white. Porthos' mind was racing, trying to come up with a reasonable explanation for what could have happened here. Aramis could have just passed out and been carried off by the men who hunted him. Or maybe some travelers found him and he was perfectly alright. Or he could be dead and buried in some shallow grave where the wild animals could dig up and devour his best friend. _All the things that I should have said to him while I had the chance. Now he's gone and I'll never be able to take back those stupid hurtful words I said when we were reunited after 4 years!_ The concern must have shown on his face because a hand suddenly appeared on his shoulder.  
"He's not DEAD Porthos" Seemingly reading his mind Athos looked into his eyes, conveying more confidence than Athos felt right now.  
"How could you know that?"  
"Because they wouldn't bother with a dead man's body. If he's not here that means he's alive...and it means that they need something from him." Raul answered.  
"And they won't be able to find anything out from a dead man."  
Athos nodded, surprised at the young mans intuition, and turned to D'Artagnan who was still crouched on the ground, "Can you tell which way they went from here?"  
"Yes, just give me a moment," Athos's question seemed to have drawn him from deep thought. D'Artagnan was studying the ground where Aramis once lie, "look at this."  
The three men stepped closer to the former Gascon, trying to see what he was pointing at.  
"I don't see anything." Raul said.  
"Right here, carved into the ground...it's ... a name... Cesar."  
Porthos face turned into a sad smile, _Only Aramis,_ he huffed in amusement.  
"Does it say anything else?!" This information had to reach Treville. If this was the name of the traitor Athos needed to know.  
"All it says is Cesar... Who has access to that kind of information with that name?"  
"I'm not sure... but I intend to find out." Athos turned to Porthos 'This needs to get to Treville. You three continue on. I'll return as soon as I am able."  
Porthos nodded as Athos remounted his horse. He looked back down at the three men "Find him, and bring him home."  
"We will." Feeling the determination in Porthos's voice, Athos turned his horse back toward the road and headed back to Paris. Armed with the knowledge of the traitors name he was determined that, should things with Aramis go poorly, Aramis's sacrifice would not be in vain

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Sorry for the filler chapter...REALLY short! I know. But I plan on posting more within the next week. Just thought I'd give you a little something before Christmas. Any way I hope you all are enjoying the story. Any questions feel free to ask. I'm on here at least once or twice a day so should respond within 24-48 hours. Merry Christmas all!


	6. Shattered Glass and messages

**Author's Note:** I'm BACK! I'd like to humbly apologize for the almost 6 month wait. I won't bore you with the details, or try to make excuses, I can only hope that you all can forgive me for the excessive delay. So instead of posting a whole new chapter I've just decided to add to this one, and it will be a nice recap for those who have been waiting for so long (again so so sorry) I have made some slight changes to the original post and extended it a bit, nothing to drastic or plot changing, but I would suggest rereading the first part. If you'd like to skip however, just jump to the second set of these ~.~.~.~.~.~.~.

 **Disclaimer:** While I would love to claim ownership of these beautifully crafted characters, I can only claim the journey that I have set them on, the characters themselves belong to a MUCH more brilliant mind than myself.

And without any possible further delay …

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While following the trail that was leading them to their missing friend, Athos couldn't help but admire the fact that Aramis was giving his captors a hard time. As much as Athos disliked it when he himself was on the receiving end, he loved it when others were being forced to live through the pain that is a sarcastic Aramis. Especially if they were not the friendly sort. The trail of blood was worrisome however, and it became even more so when D'Artagnan had raised his hand telling them to stop. "Someone left on foot here." he pointed at the ground indicating the footprints in contrast to the hoof prints all around them. "It looks like it was voluntary. There's nothing here to indicate a struggle."

"Aramis probably thought that his pursuers wanted him more than the the rest of the letter, he did everything possible to allow at least some of the information to reach us." Porthos said to Athos who nodded in agreement.

"But what could he know that the Spanish would risk having one of there spies exposed? Aramis must have discovered more than one secret while he was behind enemy lines, it's the only thing that makes any sense. "

D'Artagnan caught their attention as he dismounted, "It looks like he headed into the forest here," indicating the left side of the road, where a gap in the natural forest growth had been made. "we should go on foot from here. The underbrush is to thick for the horses to get through at any real speed. Besides it will be easier to track from down here."

Heeding his advice the three of them dismounted and headed into the forest on foot. They walked for several minutes in silence. The only sound was that of the horses breathing, and the snapping of twigs and fallen tree branches.

"It looks like his leg was wounded, you can see where one of his footprints drags a bit." D'Artagnan continued on, occasionally commenting on the odd significance of each broken branch of any given bush or tree. Athos assumed it was the younger man's worry that was making him so talkative. D'Artagnan had always been a talkative person, but when he's worried he just talks until he realizes that he forgets to breathe. He had grown a lot over the past four years. War will change any man, and Athos had watched him transform from the last of his boyish ways into the strong and confident man before him. His tracking skills had surpassed them all due to a certain mission which left D'Artagnan alone in the wilderness for 2 weeks, forcing him to become better in order to survive. What he had been forced to live through was what Aramis had once described as what Hell would be like. No one had come through the bloody mess unchanged. But D'Artagnan had the most, and he was a stronger man for it. Though Athos did miss his young energy from time to time. He was drawn from his thoughts as the man himself found something.

"He stumbled here." D'Artagnan pointed to a branch on the ground where a small pool of blood had formed on the fallen leaves. There were indents in the dirt, with what looked like drag marks from kicking or unstable feet. "It's also where his pursuers caught up with him." D'Artagnan crouched down to get a better look at the ground, "There are two other sets of footprints all around here, and these," he said pointing to the larger of the two, "are deeper. So either he was extraordinarily large or..."

"Or" Porthos interrupted, "Aramis was unconscious and had to be carried."

The worry behind those words made Porthos visibly shudder. The larger man had been clutching onto Aramis's pauldron so tightly, his knuckles had turned white. Porthos' mind was racing, trying to come up with a reasonable explanation for what could have happened here. Aramis could have just passed out and been carried off by the men who hunted him. Or maybe some travelers found him and he was perfectly alright. Or he could be dead and buried in some shallow grave where the wild animals would dig up and devour the rotting corpse of his best friend.

 _All the things that I should have said to him while I had the chance. Now he's gone and I'll never be able to take back those stupid hurtful words I said after reuniting after 4 years! I should have been less pigheaded and actually tried with him, said one kind thing, HUGGED him when I had the opportunity. All hope for renewing out long deprived friendship is now gone, and nothing I can do will ever change that._

The concern must have shown on his face because a hand suddenly appeared on his shoulder, and another on the back of his neck, forcing him to look at Athos in the eyes.

"He's not DEAD Porthos, he's far too stubborn for that." Athos said with strength he didn't feel.

"You can't possibly know that?"

"They wouldn't bother with a dead man's body. " All eyes turned to the youngest member of their search party as Raul continued, "If he's not here that means he's alive...and... it also means that they need something from him." At the last bit, he looked at the others almost apologetically.

"And they won't be able to find anything out from a dead man."

Athos nodded, surprised, both because he had almost forgotten that the young man was with them and at the fact that all of what he said was most likely true. He turned to D'Artagnan who was still crouched on the ground, "Can you tell which way they went from here?"

It appeared as though D'Artagnan hadn't heard Athos's question as he didn't respond and was studying something on the ground closely."D'Artagnan!?" Having been drawn from deep thought D'Artagnan was startled and looked up sharply, "Sorry, what?"

"Can you tell which direction Aramis was taken?"

"Right yes, but you need to look at this."

The three men stepped closer to the former Gascon, trying to see what he was pointing at.

"I don't see anything." Raul said staring at the dirt.

"Right here, carved into the ground...it looks like a name.

Porthos face turned from one of concern and helplessness to one of amusement and understanding. _Only Aramis could turn falling to the ground into something more than just that._

"Is the name all that's there?!" Athos asked, hoping that there was something to indicate otherwise.  
"Yes that's the only thing written here, you don't think that he's the traitor do you, The King will be crushed!"

"I'm not sure … " Athos stated turning to face Porthos, "but I intend to find out. This information needs to get to Treville." Athos pondered for a moment and seemed to come to some kind of decision, "You three continue on the search for Aramis. I'll return as soon as I can."

Porthos nodded as Athos grabbed his horse reigns and started running back to the road as quickly as he could. He looked back briefly, at the three men "Find him, and bring him home."

"We will." Feeling the determination in Porthos voice, Athos turned his horse back toward the road and headed back to Paris. Armed with the knowledge of the possible traitors name he was determined that, should things with Aramis go poorly his sacrifice would not be in vain.

Porthos watched till Athos was out of sight and turned back to D'Artagnan, "Alright, which way did they take our brother?" D'Artagnan stood and looked back at his comrade with a profound sense of determination and confidence, "Follow me. "

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Aramis's captors pulled him off of his horse violently, and half carried him down the long pathway, while their horses were led away by the men guarding the gates. With his wounded leg, he was somewhat grateful that the entirety of the weight, was not solely left to him alone. Still helpless to escape, especially now bound and wounded as he was, Aramis took the time to stealthily gather all the information he could about his surroundings. The iron gate to the well maintained entrance to the grounds, were being closed behind him by one of the four men guarding it. The path leading to, what appeared to be, an abandoned mansion some noble family must have left it behind for one reason or another. It was surrounded by tall trees and overgrown grass and plant life. Vines were growing up the side of the stone building, forcing the mortar apart, creating gaps in the walls, the windows, at least the ones still intact, were caked in dust and grime. As they grew nearer to the forgotten home, he could hear the muffled sound of conversations. It sounded like a group no bigger than forty but not smaller than twenty. There was the smell of campfire in the air slowly growing stronger. The abandoned courtyard of the once elegant home led to an archway, much like that at the Garrison, but longer and not built so that a man on horseback could ride through without hitting his head.

He briefly stumbled on one of the uneven stones, reminding him of the hands that held his arms firmly. Aramis muffled a grunt of pain through his gag as he fell briefly to his knees. He was soon grabbed under his arms and lifted back to his aching feet without a word between the usually bantering men. They had become far more quiet than on the road, and he didn't know why but it had Aramis slightly concerned. As they continued on their journey down the long arched walkway, it soon opened up to reveal some twenty or so tents, pitched in the cover of the rundown mansion. The location was well chosen. No one passing by would hear the commotion of the men, or see the number of tents, or even smell the scent of the overwhelming lack of hygiene. Aramis was pulled, feet now slightly dragging as he lacked the strength to continue supporting himself, toward the center of the tents. Passing by soldiers who were casually playing cards, relaxed as they could be in enemy territory. Some shot him unperturbed glances, others glared and spat in his direction, some laughed and cursed at him in their native tongue, and some didn't even bother to look up from the much desired hot meal in their hands. Aramis was surprised to see such a large force this close to Paris. It wasn't a large enough group to attack the capitol and hope to succeed, but if Aramis knew anything for sure, it was a small skilled group of men could cause a lot of damage to the war effort.

Without warning Aramis' leg gave way completely from underneath him. Tomas and Antone, not expecting this sudden weight, accidentally dropped him. With his hands bound behind him, Aramis had no way to brace himself for the hard connection with the ground. A gasp of pain escaped his muffled lips as his head exploded in agony. _Just one more hit in the head to add to an increasingly long list_.  
"Tomas what did you drop him for?" Antone grinned.  
"I didn't drop him and you know it," Tomas argued.

"We've basically been dragging him since the gate, it's not MY fault he collapsed. "  
Aramis stopped listening to the two and tried to regain focus in his eyes, as he was now seeing double when his head broke his fall. The world around him was blurry and out of focus. He wanted to shake his head to clear his vision, but Aramis knew from past experience from head wounds, this would most likely make the nausea he was feeling that much worse.

"What seem to be the problem gentlemen?" A new voice caught Aramis' attention as he tried to look up from his position on the rocky path to see who had spoken.

Tomas and Antone had ceased their argument the moment that the first word had left the newcomers lips.  
"Problem? What problem? There's no problem here, is there Antone?"

"No, no problems here. " Antone replied amusedly as Aramis slowly struggled up to his knees, groaning with effort to right himself as he went.

He looked down at Aramis then back up at the other two, a look of disbelief etched in his features.  
"No problem?" he sighed and rubbed his gloved hand over his face, "If I recall correctly, the two of you were meant to take the musketeer unmolested, or with minor damage at the least! This man," he pointed at the swaying captive, still on his knees with eyes closed in pain, "looks as if he's about to die!"

"We did, well we tried. What I mean is that we were going to...Tomas you tell him" he pushed his reluctant friend in front of him, wishing he was out of the line of fire, or at the very least the look of complete and utter disappointment that the other man was giving him just moments previously. Tomas, now the barrier between Antone and this new man, who stood at least a foot shorter than Tomas, tried to salvage what Antone and broken with his garbled answer.  
"You see Gabriel, we did have him and his letter, but when we went to bring him back morning," he paused and looked back at Aramis, who was slowly able to readjust his eyes to work properly again, "he sort of got away briefly, and his message was torn, his horse was able to get away with one part of the message. But we caught up to him, and brought him back here as soon as we could. The leg wound was a way to keep him from running. " _He doesn't need to know that he was shot BEFORE he escaped._

Gabriel looked back and forth between the two men standing in front of him in utter disbelief, subtly shaking his head as he briefly closed his eyes. When he reopened them he glanced down at the man in question who had regained most of his balance back along with his vision. They locked eyes briefly, both trying to show the other their level of resolve and determination in their equally difficult tasks ahead.  
"Pick him up. Bring him to the Captain's office for your orders. " he turned to walk away then paused and turned back to the men who had only just started to obey their order. "Try to make sure he's conscious when we get there, he looks as if he's going to collapse at any moment," he paused again and spared one last glance at the bound prisoner, "and find him something to drink after, we don't need him dying from dehydration before we can get any information out of him. "

The two nodded at Gabriel's retreating back as they quickly picked Aramis up from the ground and made to follow him through the camp to one of the several buildings on the grounds. The one they actually entered was in a similar state as the house but the roof had signs of repair as did the windows, which were boarded up to block the broken glass. It took a few moments for his vision to adjust to the sudden darkness, his eyes seemed to be doing a lot of readjusting in the last ten minutes, but when they did he saw a man with an aura of authority about him. For some reason he seemed familiar to Aramis, but in the state he was in he couldn't be sure of anything at the moment. His head felt like there were two cannonballs resting on it, as well as a slight ringing in his ears which was causing his headache to increase slowly which was more of an annoyance than anything else.

"So you are musketeer that has been causing all need for secrecy," the captain spoke in a heavy Spanish accent in broken French. He'd obviously learned the language recently but Aramis knew that if he could speak it well enough to be understood by a Frenchman, then his ability to understand the language spoken was much better. Aramis would have to watch what he said around this man.  
Having heard everything that the other men had been saying, and when not falling unconscious or dazed from some blow to the head, Aramis had understood what was going to happen to him. He had to however make it look as if he had no idea what any of them were talking about. Understanding what his enemy was saying, and them feeling secure enough that he had no idea what they were saying, had saved Aramis and several others lives in the past. Knowing what was going to happen to him didn't matter to him as long as the spy's name had reached the right people. But if there was any chance that Aramis could turn getting captured into some sort of information obtaining mission, then he would do his best to make sure he did everything in his power to get out of this alive. If not for him, if not for Athos, or D'Artagnan, or Porthos, who Aramis knew despite current disagreements, still cared for him, than for France and all those who would suffer if Spain were to win this bloody war.

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Athos raced back to Paris as if the devil were behind him. The road and landscape passed him by as if a blur. There were small scrapes on his face from when branches brushed his face as he rode, having no time to dodge them all. Treville will know what to do, he always seems to know the correct course of action in situations such as this. Granted there had never been a situation exactly like this to his knowledge, but either way Treville would understand what was at stake and know what to do. It was astonishing to Athos how many people were willing to betray the King, including his own family members. There really were very few people who could be trusted completely in the palace. First the Cardinal, who wasn't a traitor by any means, but had done some fairly terrible things in the name of France.  
Then Rochefort had come along and gained the Kings trust to the point of almost killing two of the people Athos cared for most in this world, and The Queen, mother to the heir of his throne.  
Not to mention his mother, and two of his brothers, even if he didn't know Governor Feron had actually betrayed him. Now this, now another of his brothers, illegitimate as he may be, has turned his back on his brother and his country. It made Athos sick to his stomach, which after 4 years of war, was saying a lot. He only hoped that this would be the last time, there were few left in the court that had the King's ear, and with Louis's illness, there was little time for anyone to betray him again.

Athos sped on, coming within view of Paris he paused briefly to allow his horse to catch it's breath before he continued on, headed directly for the Palace.

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Aramis was getting bored of this. The Spanish captain had been gloating about his impressive tactics and his ability to command for the last hour. Technically it had only been about 10 minutes, but it had felt like an hour to the kneeling prisoner. The polished, smooth, shiny breastplate the man was wearing told Aramis everything he needed to know about him. Even if he hadn't been ranting about how "Superior" he was to "French scum" Aramis could tell that he had never been in a battle in his life. He only got this commission and title due to his father's money and name. The moment the captain opened his mouth Aramis knew that he was in for a long winded rant from an empty headed, equally empty suited, privileged rich boy, hardly old enough to be called a man.  
Still though the moron had been giving Aramis information on troop movements and tactics to prove how "qualified" he was to lead. It was hard to not laugh at the fact that he was learning in the last 10 minutes what had taken him a month to gain access to in Spain. This knowledge however was not missed by the actual soldiers in the room. Antone, Tomas, and Gabriel, were all looking at one another in complete resignation to the fact that the man leading them was an absolute moron. Aramis even caught eyes with Tomas for a moment, who gave him a slight smirk and shook his head in defeat.

The Captain seemed to be finally wrapping up his speech, as he sat back down at his table turned desk, and gestured to Gabriel and returned to his native Spanish tongue.

"Take him to the stable and hold him there until we're ready for him. "

Aramis didn't even have to think about what that meant. What he didn't know was what information they could possibly want from him. It wouldn't take long for him to find out, he was sure. Tomas and Antone grabbed his arms and lifted him to his feet, dragging him out into the daylight once more. They headed to the opposite side of the camp where an old stable stood. It stood further back than most of the buildings and was under the cover of some trees. The entire building was much the same as the others, but as they entered it, Aramis could tell that there was at least one stall rebuilt. Fresh bars were placed in the windows, and the walls were all reinforced with thick slabs of wood. Clearly they had been expecting him, which was a touch disconcerting. There was some straw resting on the ground. At least he wouldn't be sitting on the hard ground alone. It was wet and smelled of mold however, _Can't make the prisoners to comfortable before you kill them I guess._ It looked strong enough keep a fit and healthy man inside of it, let alone a weak and wounded one. Not that it would stop him from trying, but it would make it far more difficult.

With one last shove Aramis was forced to sit on the ground. Antone reached behind Aramis' head to untie the cloth that was covering his mouth. Gabriel lifted a cup to his lips and Aramis drank without question not wanting to give them any recourse to cause any more physical violence, yet, anyway. He coughed as his throat was not used to the moisture anymore. His hands remained secure behind his back, but as he was drinking the warm water, the rope was secured to an iron chain attached to the only wall left that was made of stone.

Despite his situation he looked Gabriel in the eye as the cup was removed from his lips, "Thank you," Aramis croaked, "for the water. "

A look of surprise crosses Gabriel's features. Not expecting thanks to come from a prisoner but he tilted his head in understanding. "We are not all monsters" he replied in French with only a slight accent. He left the cell with the other two and turned to lock the door.

"Some however," he continued looking Aramis in the eye, with what almost looked like regret, "are more monstrous than others. "  
Without another word the three walked out of the stable, leaving Aramis alone.

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Well HERE it is! "YOU'VE DONE YOUR WAITING! 6 MONTHS OF IT!"

*Dodges fists with extraordinary skill*

I'm going to say it one more time, SORRY! I'M SO SORRY. I'm not going to promise to update sooner than last time, but what I can promise is to try to update when I can. I'm still without WiFi so I've resorted to publishing while I'm visiting my parents. ;[) I hope it was at least a little worth the wait. For those of you who have been checking up on me the last several months, THANK YOU! And those of you who read, write reviews, and send messages, you are my life blood!


	7. Grim Gates

**Authors Note:** I'm so humbled by all of the positive reviews and general kind words that I am receiving for this story. It is a wonderful motivator to continue writing. I hope that you enjoy this next chapter.

 **Rating Disclaimer: Also kinda spoilery for this chapter….. read with caution.**

This chapter gets a little rough on our captive hero. **I'm gonna give this chapter an M rating** as a warning to people who may be uncomfortable reading about the whole torture thing. Let me know if you guys think if I should change the rating.

 **Disclaimer:** The exceptional characters in this story (at least those you recognize) are the property of the BBC and their creator Alexander Dumas. While I'd like to claim them as my own, I am unable to do so without considerably emptying my savings account, and furthering my plunge into crippling debt.

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 **Chapter 7**

Grim Gates

Dawn was breaking as the three men traveled in silence. The evening before had been a quiet one, as none wanted to voice the worried thoughts swirling through their heads. For each knew what the other was thinking. Raul watched the two men ahead of him, as they followed the now obvious trail, and tried to understand what they could be going through. The moment that the sun had begun to rise, Porthos had risen from his makeshift bed on the ground, and immediately started to break camp. Clearly he had not slept, although the same could be said for both himself and D'Artagnan.

He was not completely oblivious to loss, or rather the fear of losing the ones that you cared about most deeply. The young man had been a part of the Musketeer regiment for nearly 3 years and had lost many friends in their struggle to win the war. He had wanted to join as soon as word of the war reached his home, but family matters forced him to wait almost a year before he was able to leave, and by that time word had already spread of the most fierce and courageous regiment of soldiers that France had to offer. Originally Raul had planned to join the cavalry, but the Musketeer regiment seemingly called to him, as if it were where he were meant to be.

When he finally made it to the front, he had already heard a great deal of the men currently in his company. Stories had been told throughout his brief training, all had made him train even harder to be the best soldier that he could be. Thinking back on it now, Raul smiled to himself at the memories of what brought him here to this moment. He had been trained as a medic during his time at the front, but when they were transferred back to Paris, Aramis had taught him so much about how to save a life. If only he had known half of what he knows now, dozens more may have lived.

He looked again at two of the men whom the young medic had grown to idolize, and stared in awe at their determination. Here they were after a month apart, only having just grown used to one another again after four years of separation, having little doubt that they were in fact going to find their missing comrade, come up with a fool proof plan, and save Aramis from an increasingly grim fate. Nothing was going to stop that mindset, because, Raul believed, if they for a moment thought that they were going to be unsuccessful, all thoughts would turn to doubt and any attempt would be foiled before it even began.

These men were on a hunt: a desperate search to save an already tested friendship. For even now Raul could see more than just determination in Porthos' eyes. Anger? betrayal? A combination of the two? But there was no fear, which was perhaps the only thing keeping the senior Musketeer from losing any confidence he felt. He thought he might ask Porthos how he was doing. After a little thought however he determined that it would be a mistake. The only other time Raul had seen that look, or close to it at least, it was from the same man, but for concern of the man next to him.

About two years prior, just a few months after Raul had made it to the front,

D'Artagnan and 2 others had gone missing during a scouting excursion. They had been overdue by 4 days, and Porthos would not wait any longer to go searching. But the look in his eyes before he left, was almost identical to the one he saw now. Asking the man his feelings on the matter was far to dangerous an idea, even though, as Aramis had said once, it is just as important to treat the mind as it is the body…"Best not add fuel to the fire at present moment" Raul decided.

Movement in the distant sky forced Raul back to the present, They had exited the wooded area some hours ago and could see autumn leaves on the horizon. Currently they were surrounded by open fields of amber grain: not unlike the fields surrounding the little town in which both Porthos and D'Artagnan had almost lost their lives some months ago.

Several hilltops and miles away, Raul spotted several pillars of dispersing smoke, coming from the trees. There was more smoak than could come from one or two fires, it was enough to be coming from that of at least fifteen. He walked up to the other two, who were still actively watching the trail in front of them, in case of any changes.

"Up ahead, that is far to much smoke for a small camp, and the pillars are to close together to be from a village," he indicated the sky in the distance as he said this.

D'Artangnan and Porthos looked up when Raul first spoke, at the sky he was indicating. The two looked at one another in surprise. Both because they had missed such an obvious sign, and because they had almost forgot about Raul even being there, as the last few hours had been traveled in silence.

"How did we miss that," D'Artagnan asked almost to himself.

"Who cares that we missed it, as long as one of us noticed." Porthos turned to Raul, "well done" he said while placing a hand on the younger man's pauldroned shoulder.

"Now let's get going, it's a good enough sign of where this trail is headed, let's just get there!"

Porthos, ever a man of action, climbed back on to his horse and started to gallop away. The remaining two Musketeers looked at one another shrugged their shoulders, climbed on their own steeds and took off after him, no more than a trail of dust from the dry path to tell they were there.

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The shackles around Aramis' wrists were becoming more than a mild annoyance. They had finally started to feel normal again after being held prisoner by Grimauld, just before he left for this mission. But now they were quickly starting to regain some of that trauma. At least it wasn't nearly as painful as it HAD been when the entirety of his body weight was held suspended by nothing but his wrists, but painful nonetheless. Noise from the goings on outside of his prison drew Aramis' attention. Men going about their morning routines not a care in the world as to what was, or wasn't going on in this little shed. About nine hours had passed since being locked in, and during five of those hours Aramis had tried, and obviously failed, to free his bound hands, hence the pain.

It seemed like a good way to pass the time, while people were readying themselves for evening watch, and most of the force was sleeping. But as soon as what seemed to be sunrise started, it was hard to tell exactly when it started in his "room", it was a good idea to stop fiddling before someone came to check on him.

So Aramis waited, and waited, and waited some more. He was starting to think that they had forgotten about him when about 4 hours after sunrise, there was movement outside the door to his prison. Keys jingled and the sound of the door opening brought with it blinding streams of light which momentarily blinded him, despite the small window in the corner of his cell. Gabriel stepped through first, followed closely behind him were two other soldiers Aramis hadn't yet had the pleasure of meeting.

"Stand up," one of the other men said in broken French, but also gestured with his hands.

Knowing that refusal would do him no good, Aramis used his elbows to support himself against the wall and shakingly stood, his leg wound still hindering his movement.

The two soldiers walked forward and started releasing Aramis from the chain on the wall. His hands were resecured behind his back with a rough rope and he was led from his small prison and out into the glaring morning sun. There was some cloud cover, and a gentle breeze shook the different colored leaves from their trees, which littered the ground. For a fall day it was already incredibly warm out, which made Aramis all the more uncomfortable. The grip on his arms tightened as he was led to another small outbuilding that they had passed the previous day on his way to the stables. The soldiers around him continued going about their business, paying the small group no mind. In fact it looked as if they were going out of there way to avoid looking at them, which confused the captive musketeer.

A dip in the path made Aramis stumble briefly, which forced him to pay attention to where he was being led. When they entered this third building Aramis noticed that there were no windows, the building must have been used for storing grain and dried foods at some point. Unfortunately this made for the room itself to become a kind of sauna, it was well above ninety degrees, and was only going to get hotter as there were two torches burning on opposite walls, and several candles illuminating a small table on the far side of the room. Closing the door behind him Gabriel guided Aramis over to the center of the room where he was briefly released from his rope bonds and then resecured back in front of him. They were raised above his head after being attached to a meat hook and was then lifted to the point where his feet just barely able to be placed flat on the ground.

" _At least my feet are touching the ground this time,"_ Aramis thought to himself. His relief was however short lived as the chain, which Aramis had only just noticed, he was attached to was pulled higher by Gabriel and then secured to a supportive beam on the wall. The Musketeers feet were now only just touching the ground. If he stood on his toes it offered some relief, but his toes could only support his weight for a short period before giving out on him. His shoes were removed and thrown to the side of the room. Aramis tried to be thankful that nothing else had been taken off of him, but it was still early in the day, and at this point anything could happen. All that remained were his pants and white shirt along with his simple crucifix which he brought with him from the monastery.

Gabriel walked over to stand in front of his captive. He looked up at him, and Aramis stared back not giving and inch, or showing any fear despite knowing what was probably going to happen to him shortly.

"I will offer you this chance, before there is no turning back," Gabriel seemed almost concerned with the tone he was using.  
"If you tell me the name of your contact in Spain, this need not go any further."

Aramis said nothing, not wanting to get his source killed. He simply raised his gaze to the wall behind Gabriel, closed his eyes, and started to silently pray to God for strength.

He heard Gabriel sigh and walk to where he previously stood by the pillar.

A fifth man entered the room not long after, which made Aramis open his eyes, but with his back to the door all he could see was the shadow the man cast on the wall.

"Leave us," was all he said, and the other three men walked out, Gabriel with one last glance at Aramis, closing the door behind them. The unknown man walked behind Aramis and set something down on the table to Aramis's right. He could only just make out the shape of the man as the shadow from his swaying suspended form was casting the man in darkness.

Aramis did his best to avoid growing feeling of fear rising inside of him. He had been tortured before, both physically and mentally. And while Rochfort hadn't had the chance for anything more than food deprivation and the occasional beating, the mental damage he caused still woke him up at night. But this felt... different. Every other time he had been captured or held against his will, Aramis knew that someone was coming for him, they had always come for him, like they knew he was in danger, even before it happened. But Aramis had no idea if the remainder of the letter had made it back to Paris, let alone if they could even interpret what it said, or if they could find his trail even if they figured out that Aramis was in trouble, or even if his captors had caught up with the horse and gotten the rest of the letter back.

All Aramis had was faith. Faith that whatever happened to him, his friends would never leave him in the hands of the enemy. Dead or alive Aramis had no doubt that no matter how much they disagreed at times, Athos, D'Artagnan, and Porthos would get him home where he belonged.

"Before we begin," the shadowed figure spoke to Aramis for the first time, "I would like for you to know that I take no pleasure in causing pain… Well… maybe some, but I am only doing my job as I know that you are doing yours. By the end of this, we shall see who is a more dedicated servant to their King."

Aramis caught the man's eye as he came to stand in front of him. He was holding several long thin metal objects in one hand, and a small dagger could be seen sheathed on his belt. Taking the dagger from said sheath, be brought the tip of it up to Aramis' chin and rested it on his throat. Aramis continued to lock eyes with him, hardly containing the desire to have the sharp object away from his person.

"Now, what is the name of your contact in Spain?"

Silence…

The knife was removed from his neck was then used to slice open the front of Aramis' shirt leaving his chest open and exposed.

"I'll ask you again, what is the name of the traitor?"

Again the man was met with silence.

A sharp pain made Aramis gasp. The dagger was forcing a tear in his skin from his ribs, down to the beltline on his trousers.

"Same question."  
Aramis tried to prepare himself for the pain he knew would come, and said, "I believe you will soon find, that Musketeers do not easily break!"

A small smile appeared on the torturers face, "I am always up for a good challenge."

Without hesitation he plunged one of the long metal skewers into Aramis' torso. The object was long enough that it forced itself all the way through to the other side, through his back. Aramis bared his teeth in an attempt to stifle his screams. But before he could recover from the first, a second needle was inserted into his left armpit, also going through to the other side. Aramis roared in pain, and forced his eyes upward. A third needle soon followed, placed in his right armpit, and it felt as if the foreign objects were forcing the bones out of their joints. He could no longer hold back a scream of pure agony, but he soon replaced it with words of prayer. Asking God for the ability to survive yet another test. Aramis lost count of how many needles were now piercing his flesh and bone.

The man walked back over to the table, placing the remainder of the metal objects down and picking up another item in which Aramis could not yet see clearly. His vision was blurred from the pain, but he still tried to appear strong in front of his tormentor. His breath coming out in shuddering gasps, and despite the heat in the room, cold shivers racked Aramis' body.

He walked around to the back side of Aramis, and being unable to turn to see what he was doing, he patiently waited for more pain. He was not disappointed when the feeling of the needles were soon made excruciating once again as they were pulled the rest of the way through Aramis' body. One by one the needles were extracted, and Aramis gave up on trying not to scream. As when the objects were removed from his armpits the joints were completely disconnected from their proper place. All of the previous bravado Aramis had tried to show completely disappeared as he howled in pain and anguish. his full body weight now rested solely on the ability to keep is toes on the ground, or who knew if he would ever regain the use of his arms.

Unable to keep track of anything anymore, Aramis was surprised when the man was standing in front of him again. It appeared as though he was looking at the crucifix, now stained with blood, hanging around Aramis' neck. The simple wooden cross was a symbol for all who knew the faith that he was, or was once, a member of Holy Orders.  
"You were a priest?"  
He sounded genuinely surprised that a soldier could have considered a religious vocation.

"F.. for a t..time." Aramis tried to respond. And while it was not entirely true, this man didn't need to know that. He seemed impressed by the idea, but then another smile appeared on his face.  
"I suppose what comes next will be a sort of irony for you then."  
Taking hold of the cross the cord tying it around his neck was yanked off and it was then tossed to the ground near where his boots had landed. He soon returned from the table holding a whip, with what looked to be broken pieces of glass and bones embedded in the leather cords. Yes the irony was not lost on Aramis.

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Well there's the next chapter! Let me know if you guys think I should change the rating on this fic or not. Hope you enjoyed this chapter and I also hope it was worth the wait. I know that my updates a fairly irregular but I do try with the time that I have. Thank you for the continued support, and I hope to update again within the next month or so. (but don't hold your breath ;) )


	8. Old Enemies, New Problems

**Authors Note:** So my laptop has crashed back in November and I am in the process of saving up for a new one, but life has been having me shovel money at unexpected things lately, so it may be a little while before I'm able to purchase a new one and be able to post "regularly" again. I've only been able to write while at my local library and I'm only allowed 30 minutes a day on the computer, so naturally it's taken me longer to get this chapter posted.

I hope that you all are well. As always I'm so grateful for the reviews, and all favs and follows I've received since the last chapter was posted. Thank you for the positive feedback… I know it was pretty bloody and some weren't so fond of that, but fear not help is just around a stone wall.

 **Disclaimer:** I am not the owner of The Musketeers, as much as I'd love to own the rights to canonically whump them, alas it is not to be.

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Chapter 8

Old Enemies, New Problems

Athos could hardly stand as he dismounted from his steed. His legs had lost almost all feeling about 10 miles ago, but he could not stop. All of his focus was on getting to Treville. Once he stopped at the steps of the Palace a Red Guard tried to stop him, but Athos pushed right through him, not even stopping to catch his breath. He walked briskly down the hallways to Trevills office, and members of the court, jesters the lot of them, stood in silence. All shocked to see the Captain of the Musketeers in such a state of urgency.

Finally reaching his destination, Athos burst through the doors not pausing for ceremony or protocol. Treville, having stood from his desk at the sudden appearance of his former pupil, released the grip he had on the musket ever present on his belt after seeing there was no immediate threat.

"Athos what is the meaning of…" but he stopped short, the urgency was written all over Athos's face.

"Am I correct in assuming that this has something to do with the torn letter that I received yesterday?"

"I apologize for the abruptness of my entrance Minister, but you are correct in your assumption."  
Treville looked behind Athos to the guards that had been posted outside his office, of which Athos hadn't even noticed, and sent them back outside to their stations.  
Taking a few shaking steps forward Athos placed a hand on Treville's desk to steady himself.  
Treville opened his mouth to tell the barely standing Captain to sit down before he did so unwillingly, but before he could get a sound out Athos blurted,

"The Kings half-brother Cesar is a traitor to the crown. He is the spy Aramis was sent to Spain to discover."

Treville stared blankly at Athos. Trying to grasp the enormity of what had just been said.

"Is this absolutely certain?"  
"I'm afraid so." Athos sighed, taking a few steadying breaths as he was finally able to do so.

"Did Aramis bring proof, there is no way that we can bring this news to The King without proof of some kind. Especially with his family! Is there no one he can trust?" The last being said almost to himself.

"There is a letter, or rather, a partial one." Athos admitted

"Where is Aramis, I would have expected this report to come from him." concern was growing in Treville's mind. There were only a few reasons that Aramis wouldn't be the one delivering the report, and none of them were good.

Athos took a steadying breath, "Sit, it is a somewhat lengthy tale."  
Treville sat slowly, not liking where this was going.

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D'Artagnan, Porthos, and Raul were crouched in the underbrush, hidden well in the denseness of the forest; while close enough to see the sentry and smell the smoke coming from the fires, hidden behind the crumbling had left their horses about a mile back, well hidden from any passers by. There was little doubt in anyone's mind that this was where their missing friend had been taken. The problem came with figuring out EXACTLY where on the grounds he was being kept.

"It makes sense for them to be keeping him the cellars of the house right?" Raul asked.  
Porthos seemed to disagree, "It looks like a strong wind could make that whole building crumble, I think that it would make more sense for them to be using somewhere else. I doubt that they'd want to risk killing any prisoners, or their own men for that matter."  
D'Artagnan nodded in agreement, "There are probably some outbuildings on the grounds that could be used as a holding cell. It looks like they're only using that crumbling pile of stone as a shield to hide themselves behind."

Both Porthos and D'Artagnan exchanged glances at one another at the mention of collapsed buildings, as a flash of their own recent encounter with one came to mind. With no desire to reacquaint themselves with being buried in rubble the best option seemed to be to sneak around the side of the walled in estate. Hoping that if the house was this destroyed maybe there was a collapsed wall in the stone barrier. Porthos lead the way around to the side, careful not to be noticed by the guard on duty. They crept along the left wall, none saying a word, and making as little noise as was humanly possible.

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The pounding of his own heart was the only thing that Aramis could hear, he'd long lost his fight to stay stoic. All he could do now was try to keep breathing without throwing up from the pain his body was in. After his flogging, or maybe it was during, Aramis had lost all sense of time. It had been mid morning when he had been dragged into this hell hole, but with no windows and his loss of consciousness at least twice, there was no telling how much time had passed. It could have been twelve hours or twenty minutes, but with no way to confirm, it seemed a pointless task. Thinking back to when he'd first fallen unconscious the number of lashes on his back had been eighteen, when he'd awoken again he could tell instantly that there had been more.

He could hear the sound of muffled voices coming from in front of him, his head had been hanging down to where his chis was almost resting on his chest. A hand appeared in his blurred vision and he involuntarily flinched at the sight of it. The hand came up to grasp Aramis' jaw enough to tilt his gaze upward at the face of his tormentor. The man continued to speak but Aramis couldn't make out a word of it, and at this point he really didn't care to know what was being gloated about. He drifted towards the darkness once again, not caring anymore what would happen to him. Suddenly there was a flash of blinding sunlight, and movement of shadows across the wall. Aramis's head was dropped which only caused his vision to be sent spiraling once again. There was a muffled conversation, which sounded more like an argument if the tone of voice had anything to say about it. The new voice, however muffled, sounded slightly familiar to Aramis, and he could feel dread growing in his gut but was unsure arguing stopped and footsteps grew closer to him.

The figure came to a stop in front of Aramis. Somewhere within him, the exhausted musketeer found it in himself to raise his head on his own to stare into the eyes of the newcomer. His eyes immediately narrowed, and curses flowed through his mind thinking to himself.

" _Of course he's involved. How could he not be?"_

He had a stern look on his face, which wasn't unusual for him, but it slowly morphed into a smirk of victory, as he spoke to the beaten and bloody captive.

"So here we are again Musketeer," taking a step towards the suspended figure, "only this time," he gripped Aramis' jaw and stared him directly in the eyes, "this time I will get what I want from you."

Quickly releasing Aramis from his grasp, Lucien Grimaud turned his back to Aramis and started to walk away.

Aramis, not wanting to let this vicious beast leave without showing some form of resistance, cleared his throat as best he could,

"If you think that you are going to win _Lucien_ , then you really have learned nothing over these last few months." Aramis's voice grew stronger as he spoke and Grimaud had stopped in his tracks.

"There is no outcome in which you will be successful, even if I die here. It will push my brothers even harder, and you WILL lose."

Now turned towards Aramis, Grimaud stepped back towards his captive, eyes locked, neither of them wavering in their convictions. Finally after an extended staring contest of sorts, breaking into a genuine smile, Grimaud spoke

"You are the most amusing of your little group, I will give you that. But you are missing one thing, _musketeer_ , you are assuming that I am going to kill you."

He turned and left the room glancing back to the torturer saying. "Take him back to his cell. Give him time to think about his limited options."

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It took almost a half an hour to sneak around to the other side of the house. The border of the property had mostly been a large stone wall until it cut off behind the main house and turned into dense overgrown hedges and an overabundance of trees. They had probably once been trimmed and cut to fit an elegant garden fit for a noble family, but time had turned them into the perfect cover to conceal their movements from anyone on the other side. Once they had found a well covered position that also allowed for a concealed view of the camp, they started to take stock of the soldiers and movements.

They could spot about twenty men going about their evening events. As the sun was slowly setting behind the Musketeers, it made observing all the easier. They looked to be beginning their evening meal. Stoking their fires, putting pots on to make some form of stew or another, and general banter that comes from a group of men at war could be heard. They all looked comfortable in their surroundings. There was no indication from anyone that they were being watched. Which was excellent for the three men hiding in the bushes.

Time passed by and the sky grew darker. Raul had just retreated several feet back near D'Artagnan to get some rest, as Porthos took second watch. The whole time Porthos had been observing, he had been hoping for some sign of where Aramis was currently being held. Keeping both his eyes and ears open, he could only hear the noises of the camp and saw no indication of any guards posted outside doors. It had been little over an hour of taking over the watch, when Porthos spotted movement at one of the buildings. As the sun had almost completely set at this point it was difficult to see, but two people had exited the small building closest to where he was observing. One wore a suit of armour that Porthos was thankful for the darkness, because even with limited light the shine on the metal was almost blinding. The other man was hooded, his face completely obscured by shadow. While the man in armour spoke with his hands flailing ridiculously, the other stood still with an air of menace. He only moved with purpose and never unnecessarily.

Porthos watch their argument until the hooded figure grasped the other man by the collar and shoved him back against the side of the building. He held him there for a few moments before roughly releasing him with a shove. The armoured man turned and went back into the building with a humiliated posture, and the other headed in the opposite direction. Porthos' view was being slightly obstructed by the number of trees on the grounds, but could see him stop at another building about thirty pases from the first.

From what he could see, which was only the bottom left half of the doorway, the inside was dimly lit. As if the only source of light was coming from a single torch. Porthos could make out the faint sound of another argument, although this one was much more heated. Alas once again no words could be understood, but when the hooded man entered the little hut, Porthos could see a pair of bare feet, suspended in the air. Before he could gain any more details the door was closed as if they knew he was there wanting to see more.

At this time Porthos thought it a good idea to tell the other men what he had seen. Sneaking back to where they had set up for the night, he found Raul sleeping as D'Artagnan stood watch over him from a seated position by a tree. The young man stood ready for action at the sudden appearance of his companion, musket primed and ready to fire. Porthos raised his hands in mock surrender,

"Easy...I'm on your side."

"Sorry." D'Artagnan replied slowly lowering his weapon.

"No, I'm sorry." Porthos replied quickly, thinking back to a time not so long ago when the two of them had been surrounded in enemy territory with no way out.

"What is it," the younger man questioned, knowing there must be a really good reason for Porthos to abandon his position.

"I think I know where they're keeping him."

"You saw him?"

"Possibly, I saw...something. But if I had to guess, it's where he is being kept."

"Show me!"

D'Artagnan followed Porthos back to their makeshift viewing spot.

"See that second building there?"

Porthos indicated the building he had seen the men enter.

"Yes, but how do you know that's the one he's in?"

Porthos was about to reply when the door opened revealing the hooded silhouetted figure from before. He was saying something to someone inside, then turned and headed in the direction of the mansion. The other man, who had been in the hut, shouted for several men to come and help him. They counted four of them who had stood from their fire. As they stepped inside the door Porthos and D'Artagnan' view was obscured by the bodies of the new group of men. They waited, and about three minutes later they were exiting the building. Two were following closely behind the three in front. As the first group cleared the doorway, Porthos noticed how one of the number was sagging in the middle. His bare feet dragging behind him on the stony path.

It was in that moment Porthos knew who it was, and by the sound of the quiet intake of breath beside him, it was clear that D'Artagnan had figured it out as well. Their slumped comrade was being dragged with his arms wrapped around the shoulders of the men carrying him. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Porthos was thankful they weren't dragging him across the ground " _Small favors"_ he thought to himself.

They watched as their good friend was dragged further away, towards the other end of the once elegant gardens. Helpless to do anything in these moments, Porthos just gritted his teeth. He felt lost, now he knew where he was, and he was in obvious pain, knowing that there was no way to get to him to help in this moment made him feel like he was being punished for some terrible crime. They watched long enough to see him be carried into a building that was once a stable of sorts.  
Taking a steadying breath, Porthos turned to D'Artagnan, a pained look in his eyes,

"One of us needs to head back to lead reinforcements to us."

As he spoke they stepped back to where Raul had been sleeping, but had woken up at some point and was standing watch.  
"I'll go," D'Artagnan said, "I can't sit here and wait, I need to be doing something."  
Porthos nodded, knowing exactly how the younger man felt, but also knowing that if given long enough D'Artagnan would probably just run at them with no plan whatsoever. Yes sending him back to lead the others here was the best option. Besides, if the state of Aramis was any indication, Raul would be needed here.

"Alright, I'll expect you back at dusk tomorrow." knowing that it was well past midnight at this point.

"Porthos, don't do what I would do…. " D'Artagnan looked at Porthos with a mischievous smirk, "hold out as long as you can my friend. If you try this with just the two of you, you'll never get out alive. Promise me that you will wait until my return."

Thinking on that for a moment Porthos responded with, "I promise to wait as long as I can, just be quick, but careful, wouldn't do us any good if you got caught before you could get any help."

The two grasped hands and D'Artagnan turned and was gone into the night.  
Raul walked up to Porthos, patting him on the shoulder, "Don't worry Porthos, he does know how to be quiet when he wants to. Even with the words of comfort from someone who had become a friend to him, Porthos couldn't help but worry as he stared at the blackness that D'Artagnan had disappeared into.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.

Gabriel watched as the barely conscious prisoner was placed on the ground of his cell. While he knew that there was going to be torture, he had never been able to understand the brutality at which Abilo would go to. He watched the Frenchman struggle to sit upright with his ruined arms, and couldn't help but to felt pity for the enemy. It was something he had felt before with those who had been on the wrong end of Abilo's whip, but this was somehow different. Maybe it was because the victim looked Spanish and he saw himself in the poor figure, or maybe it was an entirely different reason. Either way Gabriel forced himself to be emotionless, this was his enemy, and he would remain that way.

The prisoner groaned as one of the men tried to grab his arms to bind him once again. Stepping in Gabriel placed a hand on Tomas' shoulder.

"I don't think that bindings are strictly necessary at this point Tomas."

They locked eyes for a moment and Tomas nodded, accepting the statement as an order, he headed back through the door. The prisoner caught his eye briefly, and bowed his head in silent thanks. He ordered Antone to bring in some food and water for the prisoner. The shirt that he had been wearing was no longer on his body, so Gabriel could see every injury that the man had sustained from hip and above. There was major discoloration around his shoulders and knowing at the angle at which the joints themselves were at, they were clearly dislocated. Having been on the receiving end of dislocated shoulders before, he knew first hand how painful it was to have them out of socket for such a long time.

"Will you need assistance in putting your shoulders back in place?"

With a look of surprise, the wounded man considered for a moment before nodding.

"Very well," Gabriel grasped his right hand and twisted the arm into the correct position.  
"Ready?"

He gritted his teeth and grunted in approval.

Pulling as hard as he could the joint popped back in causing the already almost voiceless man to gasp out in an airy cry of pain. The Spanish captain guessed there was little voice left to scream, as he had been listening to it all day, getting raspier and raspier. Whimpering quietly the prisoner used is now resocketed arm to grasp the other and lift it towards the offered hand.

Unlike the first, this one took several tries to get back into place, and by the end of it, the frenchmen was left gasping for air as the exhaustion of the last few days.

As Gabriel turned to leave he heard a barely audible, "thank you" once again. When he turned to look at the somehow still gracious man, he had fallen unconscious. Antone was returning with a bowl of stew and a skin of water at this point,

"He's incapacitated at the moment. You can put the water in next to him, but get him a fresh bowl when he wakes up."

"Sure thing Gabe, er I mean, Captain."

With one last look and the tortured soul, Gabriel walked out of the stables, trying not to think about how bothered he was at the treatment of his enemy.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.

And another chapter in the books! YAY… I know long time between updates again, but you guys know, LIFE. Hope write again soon. Love all the reviews, both good and critical. ;)

Please let me know if you have any questions. TTFN


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